


You are free

by Aria10191



Series: Meira Surana, Andrea Hawke and Éirinn Lavellan worldstate [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Albinism, Angst, F/M, Loss of Trust, Love, Post-Break Up, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 03:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20269174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria10191/pseuds/Aria10191
Summary: Éirinn Lavellan spends the night at Caer Bronach after her break up with Solas, trying to forget the sound of the waterfall.





	You are free

_Ar lasa mala revas. You are free._

The same words over and over. That last conversation replayed in Éirinn’s head a thousand times, and each time she tried to ignore it, tried to move past it, the memory came again. She spent the night in the Crestwood keep, telling her officers that it took too much time to get back to Skyhold, and the keep was almost as safe and comfortable by now, as their main fortress. She hated lying, so she convinced herself she told the truth. She convinced herself, her decision to stay for the night was logical, and not related to the fact that she wanted to be as far from Solas as it was possible.

Crestwood was silent at night, and although she didn’t request it, she was grateful for the small room inside the tower. She was perfectly alone here, didn’t even hear the footsteps of the patrolling soldiers on the battlements. Until tomorrow morning, she was _safe_. She could ignore the strange looks from the Requisitions Officer when she saw her barefaced, and she didn’t dare to ask questions. Until she met her friends, she won’t have to answer any. If she didn’t look in the mirror, perhaps, for one night, she can be the same.

_You are so beautiful._

But she couldn’t not look in the mirror, could not let herself dream that everything was alright. She couldn’t stand the feeling that something changed on her, that the paint was drawn out from the inside of her skin and she couldn’t imagine the change. So, with a gesture, she lit the candles on her nightstand, and stepped in front of the small mirror in the corner of the room. She didn’t yet look at her reflection, for a minute she closed her eyes, recalled how she looked a few days ago, and her fingers traced the pale blue lines of the tattoo that was no longer there. She remembered the spot on her forehead, between her eyebrows. The thin, straight lines that went down to her nose, but she got lost in the more complex patterns on her cheeks. As her fingers slid down to her chin to draw the two lines crossing each other, and for a moment touched her lips, the memory of Solas’ words and the kiss once again gained enough strength to invade her mind. She swallowed and concentrated on remembering the pattern. She couldn’t get lost in her emotions. Not now. And as she drew the last line, she finally opened her eyes.

_You are so beautiful. _Solas whispered this after she looked up at him. But right now, she didn’t feel beautiful at all. Her face seemed even paler without the vallaslin, her skin almost ghostly white, only a slight pink blush on her cheeks, a reminder of lingering shame and rage. Her eyebrows melted into her skin, and for once, she saw the purplish shadows under her eyes, the clear signs of tiredness. Her white hair, normally braided and kept in a bun fell to her shoulders in messy waves as she prepared to rest. Her reflection looked like a memory of someone you met ages ago – when you can’t recall all the details, so you carry an incomplete, flawed image of the person. She could recognize the face, but at the same time, it seemed scaringly unfamiliar.

She wasn’t angry about the tattoos themselves – the loss of those was just a symbol of what happened at the waterfall, a physical representation of something bigger. They connected her to the Dalish. They masked many small imperfections on her face. She could even remember when the Keeper chose Falon’Din’s markings for her. Without them, she truly was free, not only in the metaphoric sense Solas used. Connections lost. Mistakes out in the open. And no one could tell her who she was, but herself. This sounded beautiful at first, but turned terrifying the moment she realized that she got no leads, no help, nothing but a slight glimpse of a future that vanished in the moment when the mage broke the kiss and turned away. Solas took something, and only gave pain in return. He always answered every question before, no matter what it was about, he explained whatever he thought, learned or felt, but he didn’t answer any if she asked him now. He said nothing but endless apologies, and she didn’t care about those.

Éirinn rarely trusted anyone in her life. It was her nature to be wary, even back in the days with her clan. She could never forget the insults of the children, the attacks the white haired, sun-avoiding, pale child got, the cruel jokes that were impossible to keep at bay. There were precious few who looked at her with good intentions and care, and even they needed time to earn her trust – she remembered how many years she spent as a First, wandering the woods and caves around the camp in the northern Free Marches, hiding away to study, to read the shemlen books they sometimes got from travelers, before she first had a longer, honest conversation with Keeper Deshanna. She was a good teacher, a wise leader, and still, it took years for Éirinn to truly see her as an ally and then, as a friend. She spent only months with Solas, and she let down all defenses. The mage slipped past them through inteligent conversations, humble smiles, gentle compliments, and Éirinn was too happy to shut him out, until the waterfall.

_I never wanted to hurt you._

Only one sentence, but all the walls that seemed to be crashed down to nothing was built back in moments. Nothing mattered, Éirinn no longer wanted him to stay – she didn’t beg, she didn’t cry, she just wanted to get out of that scene without getting more scars. So she replied as coldly and as cruelly, as it was possible, she showed him that she closed the gates and raised the shield. _“Well, we don’t always get what we want, do we?” _She was aware that Solas knew her well and therefore, he knew of this little technique, the way she stepped back and shielded herself from harm instead of crying or lashing out. She was sure, the elf realized how much harm he’d done, but also that his apologies didn’t mean thing.

_You are free._

Back to the beginning. The scene started to play in her mind once again, the third, the fourth, the fifth time. How could she be truly free, if she couldn’t even shut out the rumbling of the waterfall? She closed her eyes, and turned away from the mirror, leaning to the small cabinet on her side – she wasn’t sure what she was looking for when she opened its upper drawer. Maybe nothing. Maybe she just needed something to occupy her hands, a little movement to concentrate to, so she couldn’t think for a moment.

There were only some practical things inside it. The room was used for higher ranking officers, paying a visit, so there were some handkerchiefs, a cheaper pen made from the feather of some forest bird, black with a slight blue tint, and a small vial of ink. And a pair of scissors, with almost delicate patterns on it, most likely to open letters.

A few moments passed, before she took the scissors into hand, and looked into the mirror again, seeing how something was missing from that woman looking back at her. How she seemed like an incorrect memory. But maybe it wasn’t the vallaslin. She took a strand of white hair, and cut. The scissors were blunt, pulled her hair before really cutting it, but soon the clumsily cut lock fell on the floor – she cut too much, her hair would almost seem boyish in this style, but she didn’t care. What mattered was to change enough, adapt to a new face, a new role… and to forget the waterfall. Like the river in her memories could run out, the water stop and stand still forever, as the strands of her hair landed on the floor. Cut, cut, cut. Her pointy ear was no longer concealed. Cut, cut, cut. Her head felt light. She never realized how heavy her hair was until this moment. Cut, cut, cut. It seemed like the scissors got sharper while she was working, because it was so easy to make the last few cuts. She took a breath.

If she ever returned to her Clan, if she ever set foot in Wycome, to meet the representatives of the council, they would only recognize her because of her title. She would no longer be Éirinn Lavellan – she would no longer be the member of their clan, the First to their Keeper, she wouldn’t even be the pale child who hid away to read shemlen stories. She would be the Inquisitor, and no one else.

And it felt right. It was a role she was good at, a duty she took on willingly. It was a status where she was safe, respected, where they needed her mind and moral standards, not her emotions. It was future she was willing to choose. And a free person can make a decision like this. Let there be nothing. Let there be nothing but this one role, and one goal.

She didn’t hear Solas’ words again. As the echoes fade away in time, the memory of the words and kisses in Crestwood finally retreated to the back of her mind. She put the scissors back to the drawer. Cleaned up the hair from the floor. Snuffed out the candles one by one. Laid her head down on the pillow, drew up her knees to her chest and drifted into the calm embrace of the Fade, treading on familiar, but new paths, dreaming sky-high mountains, and deafening music around her.

She didn’t realize – or maybe she didn’t want to - that if she ever turned back, looked over her shoulder, she would see a path leading to an all too familiar cavern and then a clearing. If she let the music die out for a moment, in the distance the water was still rumbling, and the river never really stopped flowing. And from the bushes, six red eyes of a black wolf, glowing with ancient sadness he didn’t even try to conceal, followed her every movement.

**Author's Note:**

> It is on her wiki page, and in the tags, but Éirinn's trust issues come mostly from the fact that she is albino. Since Dragon age is set in a medieval-renessaince inspired age, if someone is born with a pigment deficiency like this, no one would actually know why they are different, and since demons and mages are common, they would probably blame it on those - putting the child into a terrible position. I just wanted to experiment, if I can make an elven Inquisitor who is more closed off, and cold, than what would be easy to represent in the game, and also not really focused on her Dalish origins, and that's how Éirinn was born.  
English is not my first language, but I tried my best, and I will try to fix any mistakes I spot.


End file.
